


And In My Hour Of Darkness, She Is Standing Right In Front Of Me

by blueb1rd



Category: Glee
Genre: Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-10-29
Updated: 2011-10-29
Packaged: 2017-10-25 01:28:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,266
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/270195
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blueb1rd/pseuds/blueb1rd
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kurt in the aftermath of Burt’s death.</p>
            </blockquote>





	And In My Hour Of Darkness, She Is Standing Right In Front Of Me

**Author's Note:**

> set about twenty-five years in the future. title is from the Beatles' Let It Be

Kurt wakes to the annoying chirp of his cell ringing at 3:36 a.m. He somehow knows even before he looks that it's Carole, and a shiver of dread creeps down his spine. Family only ever calls at this time of night for two reasons: births and deaths. No one was expecting a child.

He refuses to answer.

Instead, he shakes Blaine awake and hands him the phone. He pulls his knees up to his chest and watches with wary eyes as his husband talks in low, hushed tones. He looks stricken, and Kurt can't... he can't move, can't breathe, can't do anything. He's frozen, like a stone statue sitting in the middle of their bed.

"I'm sorry, Carole," Blaine whispers as he hangs up. He looks at Kurt and Kurt looks back. No one speaks for several long moments and then -

"It's Dad, isn't it?"  


Kurt's voice sounds small and tinny even to his own ears, like it's coming from some far distant planet rather than right there in the bedroom. Blaine simply nods. Maybe the words are stuck in his throat, too, or maybe he just doesn't _have_ words for what this is, because what this is... it's impossible. It doesn't feel real. _Can't_ be real.

Kurt finds himself moving as if on autopilot anyway. "I'll start packing."

\--

They're in Lima by the afternoon, and Carole greets him at the door with a tearful hug. She's sorry, she's so sorry. Kurt still feels strangely detached from the entire situation, like it's happening to someone else, some other family, and he's simply an observer. He holds onto Carole anyway and whispers hushed assurances that everything will be okay. He knows, in the back of his mind, that it won't be. Can’t be, because his father is -

He stops himself, pushes that thought away. Kurt's not ready to deal with it yet.

He doesn't have _time_ to deal with it; there's too much to do. He has to unpack and put their things away, get the kids settled in. They'll be sleeping on the ancient sofa bed in the upstairs den, while he and Blaine share Kurt's old room - now the guest room.

After unpacking there's a lot of talking to be done. Going over in detail how it happened, discussing what's to be done next, going over funeral arrangements and expenses. There are relatives left to call, friends yet to be informed.

Everyone cries but Kurt, yet they keep asking if _he's_ okay. Blaine squeezes his hand under the table a thousand times, offers him cups of tea what seems like every few minutes. The thing is, Kurt's _fine_. He doesn't understand why they're so concerned. He's simply keeping a clear head, and that's a good thing, right?

It's a good thing.

\--

Night falls eventually and they run out of things they can do or plan. Finn and Laura go home, everyone else goes to bed. Blaine wants to talk, draw Kurt out of the shell he has so obviously retreated into. Kurt brushes him off. He's tired. It's been a long day and he's just so, so tired.

They curl up together instead, Blaine's arm slung around his waist, thumb stroking soothing circles into Kurt's skin. It's a sweet gesture, but he doesn't feel comforted. He feels smothered.

Eventually his husband's breathing evens out and the arm around Kurt's waist goes lax - Blaine is asleep. He waits a few minutes, just listening and feeling the steady rise and fall of Blaine's chest against his back, before slipping out of bed. Kurt's not sure where he's going, just knows if he doesn't get out of this room he's going to go crazy.

He lets his feet guide him where they will.

\--

He ends up taking the little back staircase to the attic and soon finds himself crouched on the floor by his mother's old dresser. It doesn't smell like her anymore, hasn't for years, but the worn wood is familiar and comforting. He leans against it and closes his eyes.

"Dad," he whispers into the dimly lit room. "Dad, you can't do this. You can't leave me alone."

He knows from a logical standpoint, of course, that he isn't alone. He has Blaine and Simon and Samantha. Carole and Finn and Finn's family. Jeff and the Thompsons, Wes and Lola... so many people. But at that moment, as the reality of the situation finally starts sinking in he feels eight years old all over again. He's worried and scared and he just... needs his _dad_. Needs Burt to come up the stairs and hold his hand and tell him everything will be alright.

That doesn't happen, of course. It can't. His father is dead.

\--

It's the first time he allows himself to even _think_ it, but once he has he can't stop. It echoes around his mind like the worst kind of broken record and he's... he's alone and upset and _angry_ , so very angry. Angry at his dad for not taking better care of himself, angry at Carole for not making him, angry at a God he doesn't even _believe_ in for taking Burt away when Kurt still needs him, would _always_ need him.

The tears start as a trickle but soon gain momentum. People have called him a pretty crier in the past, but he doesn't have to see his reflection to know there's nothing pretty about this. It's messy and frantic and he _aches_ with it, his frame wracked with violent sobs he struggles desperately to keep silent. He's not sure how much time passes. Minutes, maybe, or hours. The next thing he's aware of are footsteps sounding on the stairs outside.

Kurt freezes - doesn't move, doesn't blink, doesn't breathe. He knows it's crazy, but unbidden thoughts of _maybe, somehow_ flit through his mind. He waits, almost expecting to hear his father's voice at any moment. "You alright, kiddo?" he'd say, and Kurt would shake his head and reply _no, no I'm not. I had this terrible dream..._

The door swings open to reveal Blaine (because of course Blaine had woken up and of course he'd known, by instinct, where Kurt was), and Kurt can't help the feeling of disappointment that floods through him. Their eyes meet and he breaks all over again, face crumpling pathetically.

It takes less than an instant for Blaine to be crouched on the floor beside him.

"He's gone," Kurt whispers, clutching desperately at his husband's sleeve, "he's really gone."

Blaien doesn't push or try to stem the tears or even tell Kurt everything will be okay. Instead, he wraps his arms around Kurt and holds him safe and close, crying right along with him. "I know," he murmurs into Kurt's hair, squeezing his eyes shut, "I'm so sorry, baby."

It's not much but at the same time it's everything. Because it's exactly what Kurt needs - that extra, physical reminder that he's not in this alone. He's still got someone willing to share his joys and sorrows, smiles and tears.

And no, everything won't be all right - that much he knows from experience - but life goes on. He won't forget, can _never_ forget. Eventually, little by little, the ache will start to fade. It will lessen and dull until it's no longer this all consuming thing. He'll be able to walk and breathe and move through life remembering the past with a sense of fondness outweighing the pain.

Until then, he'd lean on Blaine and his family and they'd lean on him. They'd survive this thing the way Burt would have wanted them to - together.

  
_End._   



End file.
